


Sexual Harassment in the Workplace: Lockdown

by Shamelessquestions (KagekitsuneXXX)



Series: Sexual Harassment in the Workplace [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Meta, Quarantine, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KagekitsuneXXX/pseuds/Shamelessquestions
Summary: Just because you live in a high-rise now doesn't mean you're above it all.Sexual Harassment in the Workplace: the Corona edition. Just a bunch of vignettes about a couple surviving a rough time together.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Sexual Harassment in the Workplace [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/759798
Comments: 123
Kudos: 444





	1. The best laid plans

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, Fam! I hope you're staying safe and making the best choices. Here's hoping 2021 is a better year for all of us.
> 
> I almost never state a particular year in my stories, but this is an exception. This addition to the SHITW series takes place during 2020 where Ms. Rona has been kicking everybody's ass. The events here would have occurred just after the original SHITW and way before the events of Grown Folks. (Shout out to past me for making GF way the hell in the future and inadvertently leaving this window open.) So Ian and Mickey are back in their mid, going on later, twenties and have been living together for maybe a couple years. 
> 
> The vignettes offered here are non-sequential, and bounce back and forth across various points and stages of the year because time has lost all meaning.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> **For Resa, my day one Ride-or-Die. You knew what you were doing when you made me watch that playlist.**

**_Some point in 2019; in the before-times_ **

“BACKSTREET’S BACK!”

That was just weird enough to get Mickey to slow his toothbrushing, but not quite weird enough to get him to stop completely. Carrie was at the other end of the line making increasingly unintelligible noises after her outburst.

“What?”

“Backstreet’s back!” she repeated breathlessly.

“Alright?”

“UGH! Backstreet Boys, DNA tour, me, you, yes?!”

Mickey blinked slowly at his phone. “You’re a Backstreet Boys fan? Like, attend shows level fan?”

“No bitch, I just felt like screaming non sequiturs at you about iconic 90s boy bands,” Carrie withered. “This is my childhood, Mickey; my emotional blossoming, my sexual awakening.”

“You’re a lesbian.”

“I’m aware.”

Mickey paused to wash his face and wrap his mind around this early morning nonsense. “Didn’t they retire at some point?”

“Went on hiatus, but they’ve been around,” Carrie replied.

“And now they want some cash and serotonin, they’re back, powered by the hot, dry winds of nostalgia?”

“Okay...This is more attitude than I was expecting this morning; even from you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I find comebacks cheap and disingenuous,” Mickey sniffed. “If you say you’re going, stay gone. You’re just gonna give everybody trust issues. And who is checking for the Backstreet Boys in 20-fucking-19?!”

“Ex-fucking-cuse you?” Carrie gasped, “don’t you fucking act like you don’t know. Backstreet was the shit back in the day. Do I need to do a fucking hits roll call right now?”

“They were the shit, then they fell off, and the zeitgeist moved the hell on,” Mickey countered. “Does Backstreet even know what’s been happening in the latest seasons…”

“...”

“...of like music and culture and shit?”

“I’m sure there’s an excellently curated youtube playlist if they need to catch up,” Carrie muttered. “Look I don’t know why you’re so salt-encrusted about this right now, but you need to knock it off. Did I call you asking for an exegesis on the enduring cultural relevance of 90s trends?”

“Um-”

“Did I ask you to perform a vivisection of my favourite boy band and their inner motivations?”

“Well-”

“No, you fucking saltlick, I called you because this is my moment, these are my jams, Backstreet’s back to holler at me and I need a partner to take this ride!” 

“Where’s your girlfriend?”

“God, she’s Team ‘NSync, Mick. She drew her line in the stan wars and I don’t need that type of negativity in my life for this,” she sighed before switching to cajoling. “Come on, do not be difficult right now. I know you’ll be jamming with me if you give them a chance. Let Backstreet into your heart, Mickey. I helped you steal a horse!”

“It wasn’t a real horse, it was an unwilling stuffed sex toy, but Jesus, alright, okay. I guess it’ll be like taking a kid to a concert,” Mickey capitulated gracelessly and started to make his way out of the bathroom. “When are we doing this?”

Carrie took a moment to celebrate her victory. “We need to score some dates in 2020 because this year is a bust for that. Which brings you to your next assignment: get boss man to give us the time and get his permission for you to go.”

Mickey snorted rudely. “Permission? We just need to put in for our days. I don’t need no stinking permission, I’m a grown ass maa--heeyyy,” Mickey abruptly switched gears as he exited the bathroom only to run into Ian going through his drawers in their bedroom. 

Ian straightened up and grabbed Mickey to kiss him good morning, as Mickey quickly took Carrie off the speaker phone. “Hey,” he grinned down at Mickey as they pulled apart.

Mickey smiled back, feeling dumb, warm and fuzzy, and momentarily forgetting what he was about to say. Subsequent squeaking from his phone reminded him. “So, um, Carrie is a Backstreet Boys stan. Sexual awakening and all that.”

Ian was nonplussed. “She’s a lesbian though.”

“I’m as confused as you are.”

“Aren't they problematic as shit now? Isn’t one of them a Republican or something?” Ian asked, already reaching for his phone to look up the band and the tour.

“ONE, one of them is a Republican, and we don’t fuck with them individually, okay!” Carrie’s aggravated voice cut into the conversation.

“I took you off speaker phone, how are you doing that?” Mickey tapped his phone again to quiet his friend. “She wants me to go with her to a couple of their dates next year.”

“We were barely alive when they were a thing, weren’t we?” Ian continued musing, “when did this sexual awakening happen exactly? When did she become a fan?”

“Ian, I don’t know how she’s doing this, but she’s making my phone vibrate and it’s starting to burn my hand,” Mickey said. “Let’s not overanalyze and let’s just get this show on the road. Is it a go?”

“Sure, okay,” Ian said and shoved away from the dresser. “Tell me when you guys want to go and tickets are on me. Oh, and pepper spray too, you know, for the mosh pits.” Ian grinned his way out of the room as Mickey flipped him off and Carrie’s happy screams filled the room despite still not being on speaker phone.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” Mickey laughed as he listened to Carrie bop around on the other end of the line.

“Oh hell yeah we’re doing this. Short of some kind of biblical plague, I will have it that way and it will be larger than life. 2020 is going to be lit, fam!”

  
**_Spoiler:_ ** 2020 was not lit, fam.

* * *

* * *

* * *

_**The roof is on fire...and Australia...and California, and-** _

Mickey hesitated outside the entrance, weighing once again just what he was about to do. Ian’s face appeared before him and the hot flush of guilt hit him instantly. He contemplated walking away but the feeling eventually passed. It was nothing but insanity lately, and this was just another symptom. Shit, everybody needed something to help them through lately.

Mickey pushed through the door and stepped into the slightly cramped space. He sighed and looked towards the rear of the room and made eye contact with the tall, dreadlocked man stooped there, adjusting magazines. The man smiled knowingly, intimately, and straightened up to approach Mickey.

“I see you, baby,” he said as he approached. “We doing it this time?”

Mickey took another steadying breath and nodded. Dre stepped behind the bodega counter and nodded to the cigarette display. “What’s your poison?”

“You have to use the fucking word ‘poison’?” Mickey snapped.

“There’s a Surgeon General’s warning on them, man,” Dre pointed out. “But I’ll try to be more sensitive in my choice of words. Menthols?”

“Do I look like I fucking smoke menthols?” Mickey grumped through his mask.

“Gotta tell you, apart from the scintillating will-they-won’t-they sexual tension you have with my cigs, your sunny personality is the absolute highlight of my day in these difficult times.”

“Sorry,” Mickey shrugged apologetically, “it’s just…”

“Yeah, I know. How long have you been on the wagon?”

“I don’t know, like six months?” Mickey laughed wryly “hell of a time to quit.”

“Gingerbread make you do it?” Dre asked and his grin was evident even behind his own mask. “Don’t know you’re here either, huh? You guys hitched yet?”

“Does ghetto married count? If it does, then yes and we’re still on our honeymoon. That’s the only way he convinced me to quit this shit.”

Dre’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember the first time he’d seen the couple. “How long do honeymoons last for white gays?”

“Until I fucking say so,” Mickey muttered “fuck it, gimme the Marlboros.”

“You know, maybe there’s a medium here between cold turkey and falling off the wagon,” Dre said as he put a few packages of vape starter kits on the counter.

“Vapes? Aren’t those for hipsters and fourteen year old girls? I thought they said that shit gave you the black lung.”

“That was back in the day when vaping was the newest, scariest big bad in town. We’re on some new shit, baby,” Dre pointed out. “Nobody has time to scaremonger this anymore, so it’s probably okay...maybe. Besides, look at all the fun, less stinky flavors: strawberry, banana, vanilla, big Irish dick-”

“Wait, what, really?”

“No, but made you look, didn’t I?” Dre grinned maddingly. “Best thing is, if you need to do this on the DL, you wouldn’t taste like an ashtray or smell like one either.”

Mickey chewed his bottom lip as his eyes darted from Dre’s counter, to the cigarettes, then to Dre. The moment stretched on before Mickey finally spoke. “He loves strawberry-flavoured shit.”

Dre closed the cash register and looked on with amusement as Mickey furtively left the store, the latter desperately clutching his illicit goods. Dre’s cat pounced up on the counter and accepted a scritch behind the ears even as he lifted her off. She mewled her censure up at him.

“What, like he’s actually going to get a chance to use it. Gingerbread’s going to confiscate it before he even gets the box open.”

Cleocatra mewled again. 

“I don’t get why you’re copping an attitude right now,” Dre replied, “this is a bodega, selling people shit they shouldn’t be getting is our bread and butter. Look, you want that Fancy Feast or not?” he said before she could interject again. Cleo wisely shut it down.

* * *

You know you are not making good decisions when you’re huddled in the alleyway behind your building, nervously clutching a plastic bag of goods you wouldn’t want your partner to see. Mickey blew out a breath and leaned against the wall as he tried to reconsider his life choices before he was distracted by voices of the maintenance guys dumping trash around the corner.

“Rich people stay wilding, man. Pandemic’s just another excuse,” one laughed to his companion.

“Shit getting weird on the roof yet?” the other asked.

“Weird enough, but nothing too major. It’s just yoga and shit right now. Couple of them started baying at the moon, I swear to god. Bet money there’s an orgy by midnight. Bet!”

“Fuck that, that’s shit almost guaranteed. My bet, two years from now, whatever goes down on that roof tonight's gonna be a murder podcast.”

The men laughed and their voices soon faded, leaving Mickey with thoughts of his crazy neighbours instead. “Nah, he wouldn’t,” Mickey thought to himself before scratching his ear beneath the strap of the mask. “Nah…,” he repeated before eventually sighing, “goddammit.”

* * *

To their credit, the congregants on the roof were still socially distanced for the time being. Mickey cast a skeptical eye over the group, a bunch of stir crazy affluents in various stages of undress and a variety of yoga poses on the roof in the middle of the night. In the corner, in an elaborate nest of her own making was the undoubted ringleader, Helen. Helen was the wild haired, hippie scion of some American dynasty Mickey could be fucked to remember. 

The bet he was willing to take was that she definitely had some weapons-grade drugs on her. She was most likely getting ready to bust open the pharmahuasca as soon as she figured enough people would be down for it. Mickey was also willing to bet that it was the promise of said psychedelics that lured most of the roof’s visitors.

It didn’t take Mickey a second to locate his red homing beacon of a boyfriend on the opposite side of the roof, apparently bent on breaking some sort of tree pose record. Mickey pulled down his mask and whistled, and Ian seemed to snap awake. Mickey swore the way Ian could light up when he saw him could never get old. Mickey felt himself soften and warm as Ian strode over to him, and suddenly everything felt far less dire.

“Hey,” Ian purred before immediately clocking the bag Mickey had forgotten he was holding. “What’s that?”

Before Mickey could think, Ian had taken the bag and pulled out its contents. He raised an eyebrow at the box and then stared dead at Mickey. “No.” Ian quickly moved to get ahead of Mickey’s protest. “Okay, I know, I know. It’s chaos right now and your cravings are kicking your ass, but can we look at some alternatives that are not just swapping to the alleged lesser of two evils? This is just going to make you want the real thing anyway.” Ian squeezed Mickey’s side as the latter remained stubbornly unconvinced. “Look, if all else fails, we’ll discuss this as an option,” Ian said, chock full of disingenuousness since they both knew Mickey wasn’t going to see hide or hair of a vape pen ever again.

Mickey gave Ian a baleful glare before Helen’s sudden ululating distracted him. He rolled his eyes and stared pointedly at Ian. 

“Yeah, I know,” Ian said. “She sent out a group message earlier saying she wanted to have a ‘Together Apart’ meditation session. You’d have seen it if you hadn’t muted us. It was something to do. I was going to leave before the drug orgy started!” Ian added quickly when Mickey raised an eyebrow at him.

Mickey snorted but reached up to wipe at the edges of Ian’s heavily kohled eyes.

“What, too much?” Ian asked, taking in Mickey’s smirking eyes while leaning into the gentle ministration. “She said to put on our war paint. This is the best I could do. Do I look insane?”

“No, you know you rock this shit,” Mickey laughed, actually speaking for the first time since coming on the roof. “Don’t let me have to come back to get you.” Mickey warned. He paused before turning to head back to the exit. “Um, so you want me to get rid of that?” he asked, nodding to the bag in Ian’s grasp.

“Nice try, I got it,” Ian said drily and watched as Mickey surrendered and made his way to the stairs. Ian wondered if he should give into the temptation to go after him.

“Hey children, has anyone here ever tried to open their third eye? I mean really tried? Like with some Special K?” Helen sang out from her corner.

_“And that’s my cue,”_ Ian thought to himself as he took after his boyfriend. He needed to keep Mickey distracted with dick right now anyway.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Ian realized that you could develop some weird superpowers in quarantine without even trying. Granted they were esoteric, borderline useless superpowers, but it didn’t mean they weren’t special. For instance, if he closed his eyes and went really still, he could tell by the swearing and the force of the thud against the wall, just which one of Mickey’s GED books was being hurled across the room. This one sounded like Social Studies. A moment later, Mickey was standing in front of him in the living room, fuming and clutching the battered textbook in his fist.

“So I’ve been thinking about some stuff,” Mickey began.

“Uh huh.”

“Me and you, right? This, us? It’s the real deal, right? Fucking forever?”

Ian sat up on the sofa a little straighter, making Lola shift on his lap. “Uh huh?”

“Yeah, so I’ve been reading up on, uh,” Mickey quickly consulted his textbook, “toxic masculinity, and I realize that maybe I’ve been thinking about shit wrong.”

“Uh huh.”

“I mean, clearly I’m being too defensive and stubborn about the whole independent, hold my own bullshit and being all sensitive about you having money and all that.”

“Uh huh.”

“So fuck it, I’m just going to lean into it,” Mickey nodded. “Fuck this GED bullshit, I don’t need it; you’re loaded and I was gainfully employed even without it anyway. I’ll just be a kept man. There’s nothing emasculating about it. I’ll just be here, barefoot and pregnant; nothing to it. Yeah, cool? Good? Good talk.”

_“This is your reminder that your Social Studies class begins in fifteen minutes via Google classroom,”_ Alexa intoned.

Ian and Mickey stared at each other in silence.

“You’re going to make me go, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh.”

“God-fucking-dammit, Ian! These classes are stupid and boring enough in person and you expect me to actually stay awake for this bull-”

Another superpower Ian had been faithfully honing over the past few months was the ability to switch on his inner noise-canceling headphones at will. As Mickey’s angry ranting faded into a dull, soothing drone, Ian was just grateful that some of these powers were kind of useful after all.

**TBC**


	2. Cyberpunk 2020

**_Zoom, zoom, zoom, make my heart go-_ **

“Ay dios mio, Ian, you have ghosts!” Izzie gasped, wide-eyed, during their group’s Zoom meeting.

Ian paused his scribbling in his notepad and looked up at his screen. There did indeed appear to be a ghostly apparition floating in his background. He turned around to find Mickey wandering around their living room, stark naked and blissfully unaware that he had come into frame of a writing session.

“Nope, no ghosts, just haven’t gotten much sun lately,” Ian laughed. “Can you guys give me a minute?” he said as lowered his laptop screen. “Hey, Casper!” he yelled, and Mickey’s head snapped up. “We’re trying to plan a boss fight here and your ass is distracting the squad!”

Mickey blinked, momentarily nonplussed before snorting defiantly. “You’re welcome,” he said before sauntering off towards the back rooms. “You need to remind me when you’re having these meetings.”

“You need to stop being so allergic to clothes,” Ian countered, but took a moment to appreciate the view of Mickey walking away. “You really are the whitest kid I know right now,” he teased. “You’re this close to being bioluminescent. You need to go on the roof more often.”

“Oh, like you’re Ariana Grande all of a sudden,” Mickey shot back. “Just because there’s some fire on top, doesn’t make the milk spicy, if you get what I’m saying,” Mickey said, nodding to Ian’s hair.

“You know how spicy it is,” Ian teased softly. “Don’t act like you of all people don’t know how spicy it is.” 

“Um, Ian?” Izzie broached hesitantly. There had been a key change in Ian’s voice that seemed to indicate that he may have forgotten his team and the meeting.

“I don’t know shit about shit, son,” Mickey replied, also picking up on the bass drop in Ian’s voice, and also apparently forgetting that there was a whole group of people helplessly staring at Ian’s keyboard.

“I told you about this attitude problem you have in the mornings,” Ian said as he got up from the dining room table.

“I-Ian, it’s just that you’re-you’re the host and we can’t really mute you and, um, guys?”

“I got an attitude, but it seems like the only one here with a problem, is you,” Mickey said soft and low as Ian paused in front of him, less than a breath away. He ran his tongue tantalizingly across his lower lip and issued his challenge. “What you gonna do about it, tough guy?”

There was a fraught moment of silence that was quickly broken by the sounds of distant grunting and thudding.

“Um,” Raj began.

“Yeah, okay,” Izzie coughed just as Ian’s screen was shaken by the force of a body or two slamming onto the dining room table where the laptop resided. “So, um, guys, I think maybe we can just take a ten minute-”

_“Oh fuck you!” Mickey panted, “ah, fucking do it.”_

_“Beg for it,” Ian demanded, “tell me how much you want it!”_

“-maybe a fifteen minute wellness break, where we can get some water and stretch our legs and just regroup-”

“That is a really strong table,” Raj mused.

“Fucking A,” Annie agreed.

_“Ah yeah fuck me up; choke me.”_

_“God, you’re so fucking hot. I fucking love you.”_

“I haven’t been touched by another human being in like two months,” Macy said in quiet devastation as Ian’s window shuddered violently.

“You know what, I’m sure Ian will let us know in the Slack when we’re ready to resume,” Izzie babbled. “I’m out!” she declared and left the meeting.

* * *

Sometime later, when Ian slowly and gingerly opened his laptop, there was but one other person left in the Zoom session. Annie was nearing the bottom of her bowl of popcorn and having a jam session while her mic was muted.

“Heyyy, Annie,” Ian began.

Slightly startled, Annie returned her attention to the meeting. “Well hey there, Tiger King. Welcome back.”

Ian cleared his throat and squirmed in his chair. “Um, so everybody else obviously…”

“Oh bless their pearl clutching, scandalized little hearts; the last one tapped out about fifteen minutes into it.”

“Right, okay.”

“You have got to tell me about your workout routines. Crossfit? P90X?” Annie hazarded some guesses. “I used to be up there, but I realize that my stamina is hot garbage now.”

“I’m just, I’m just going to post a message in the group real quick and-and just yeah...” Ian grabbed his phone and retreated from the table. “Hey team, super sorry about earlier. Had to attend to a bit of a medical, no, personal emergency, which probably sounded like--you know what, nevermind what it may have sounded like. I’m just so sorry about that distraction and the meeting getting cut off-”

“Annie,” Mickey, now fully dressed, greeted as he sat in Ian’s chair and took a swig of beer.

“Boy, I tell you what, my granddaddy had a Timex watch that he would brag on nonstop that it could take a licking and keep on ticking. That man had never met the likes of you and that dining room table.”

Mickey simply gave a quick nod of his head and took another swig.

“I promise you, if it all goes to shit and industries crumble, get your asses on OnlyFans. I guarantee you that I will personally keep you two in the one percent. Goddamn, well done, sirs.”

“Yeah?” Mickey laughed. “Shit, glad you enjoyed it while it’s free.”

“-so meeting resumes in fifteen minutes and if we can just not mention any of this to Carol, I would really appreciate it,” Ian finished up his message and his slow circuit of the living room. “Again, I am so, so sorry. I will make amends...somehow.” He paused at Mickey’s side and glared down at him while his boyfriend snuck quick glances up back at him. “I need you to get as far away from me as is reasonably and responsibly possible.”

“Yep fair,” Mickey burped and got up from the table. “Gonna head up to the roof; get some sun.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

“Bingo!” Mickey yelled out and made the winning mark on his card as he lay in bed next to Ian. 

“You do not have bingo,” Ian said. “What the fuck gave you bingo?!” He snatched Mickey’s card and looked in disbelief at the shaded squares.

“Murder hornets.”

“Murder hornets?! What the fuck are Murder hornets?!”

“Murder hornets,” Mickey repeated and nodded at the TV news. “Just what it says on the tin. Don’t see how it could be any clearer--hornets that murder. Covid bingo, bitch. Blow me.”

“Who the fuck could have predicted Murder hornets?!” Ian demanded as he gaped in disbelief at the news.

“I dunno, Jameela Jamil? That kid from ‘My Girl’? Are you blowing me or what?”

“You did not have Murder hornets,” Ian said, examining the card more closely. “You had ‘murder’ and you just jammed the hornets under it just now! Wait, why did you have murder in your Covid bingo?”

“What, you don’t? This is prime murdering season, Ian. It would be dumb not to include it.”

“What kind of murder? Like us killing each other, us killing other people? Murder in general?”

“Yes.”

The two stared at each other suspiciously.

“If you murder me, I’m murdering you back,” Ian warned, “and I’m not blowing you for this, you fucking cheat.” Ian dumped the card in Mickey’s lap and turned his incredulous attention to the breaking news of goddamned Murder hornets. What the fuck 2020?

“Can I get a blow job anyway?” Mickey asked after a while, earning him some side-eye.

“Yeah sure, as long as you acknowledge that this is a gratuitous blow job and not a victory one,” Ian said and shuffled down between Mickey’s legs.

“Still salty about Call of Duty, huh?” Mickey sighed as Ian sucked him down.

“You kept shooting my fucking guys!” Ian said around a mouthful of Mickey. He then popped up much to Mickey’s chagrin. “Do you really want to piss me off while my teeth are that close to your junk?”

“Like I give a fuck; I live for danger,” Mickey said and unceremoniously shoved Ian’s head back down.

* * *

* * *

* * *

‘ **_Tis the damn season_ **

“Merry Christmas, bestie!” Carrie sang out over the phone. 

“Thanks, we still got a few days though,” Mickey laughed.

“It’s Christmas day whenever the gifts get there,” Carrie said. “Man, I wish we had planned this shit better and we would have been in each other’s bubbles. We’re gonna have to do this shit loud next year. Did you look at your gifts yet?!”

“Yeah, and I’m noticing a theme,” Mickey murmured as he flipped through the vinyls and CDs. “Chloe x Halle, Fiona Apple, Dua Lipa, Charli XCX, the Chicks, _two_ Taylor Swift albums?! Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Oh, funny how I don’t hear you bitching about the Megan Thee Stallion though.”

“I mean, you know, the body though.”

“Bitch, I know!” Carrie said, dropping her voice to a dramatic, conspiratorial whisper so Leslie wouldn’t hear her. “I’d say her body was goals, but I don’t even think we classify as the same species at this point!”

“Tell me about it,” Mickey murmured as he cast an eye over at Ian working up a sweat in their living room.

“Look, every album there is a hundred percent fire. You need to create a space for strong female voices to go with all that angry headbanger smoke you keep inhaling.”

“So Bad Bunny?”

“Oh we fuck with Bad Bunny in this house. Check out ‘yo perreo sola’ and tell me if he isn’t serving you something no matter which way you lean.”

Mickey snorted his amusement. “So what, no Hole? No Gaga?”

"You're a hole," Ian joked as he jabbed the heavy bag. Mickey simply flipped him off.

“Courtney didn't release anything new this year, and boy, you’re a couple of Manhattan queens. Mother Monster is automatically downloaded to all your streaming devices.”

“No she isn’t.”

“On god. Mickey, the Chromatica II/911 transition is about to hit in your house right now. I’m hearing it. Ian’s about to go beast mode on that punching bag in about thirty seconds.”

“Is that what that is? I thought it just came with the condo. It follows us everywhere.”

“Jesus, listen, you are required to listen to each of those albums all the way through at least twice before you decide to shelve them somewhere. Don’t play with me; there will be a quiz.”

“What kind of Christmas gift comes with homework?”

“One you will thank me for.”

* * *

“I'm still not totally clear on what Cottagecore is,” Mickey told his boyfriend when he emerged for the latest listening session with Tony at his heels.

“No one is, babe,” Ian assured him as he worked on his laptop. “I think it has something to do with pinecones and pumpkin spice? Or is that just autumn?”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s now a core part of my identity for the foreseeable future. Fucking quarantine, man,” Mickey grumbled beneath his breath.

“No shit, now are we expressing that?”

Mickey expelled a breath. “Fuck if I know. I don’t know, let’s find a cabin in the woods upstate and go fuck in it.”

“Yes,” Ian said and immediately opened a new tab on his browser. “I am down for that.”

“Yeah shocker. Don’t get anything too axe-murdery, and nothing in the pathway of potential prison escapees. I’m not dealing with that shit; I don’t care how big their cocks are.”

“You’re so smart,” Ian whispered sincerely as he feverishly scrolled through listings, “you’re the smartest person alive.”

“Fucking Taylor Swift,” Mickey grumbled and slunk back into his room.

* * *

* * *

* * *

“Then she and a bunch of other celeb fuckwits really thought it was prudent to jump on Beyoncé’s internet and karaoke ‘Imagine’ at the entire world. I wonder if they can imagine the guillotine, I swear to god,” Carrie fumed across the line. “Ugh, so fucking tone-deaf. It’s a pandemic, we’re on lockdown. How hard is it not to show your ass to the entire world?”

“You sound aggravated,” Mickey said.

“You’d know,” Carrie sniffed. “You ever wondered what you and Ian would do if the revolution ever comes?”

“Oh shit, are we guillotine qualified?”

Carrie laughed out loud. “Bitch, you live in a literal ivory tower right now.”

“Yeah, but technically I’m not a one percenter, I’m the one percenter’s fun. I just fuck the one percenter ‘till the one percenter comes.”

“Bitch, you’re so stupid,” Carrie giggled. “Litmus test for the guillotine? How much does a banana cost?”

“People buy that shit? Hold on, let me find out if there’s any Southside left in this house. Hey Gallagher!” Mickey yelled out and Ian poked his head out the bedroom. “How much for a banana?”

“I dunno, ten dollars?” Ian shrugged and disappeared back into the room.

“Shit,” Mickey tutted.

“Yep, you’re fucked,” Carrie told him. “You’re my boys though, so I’ll try to get them to eat y’all last.”

“Appreciate it,” Mickey laughed. “You okay? You sound a little..."

Carrie sighed. “Yeah, me and Leslie are just going through it a little bit. 24/7 in a confined space with so much shit coming at you will do it, you know?”

“I can imagine.”

“Yeah, not sure you can in this instance. Total honesty, sort of had an ‘all lives matter’ _discussion,_ for want of a better word, and I was disappointed...and dismayed.”

“Ohh.”

“Holy shit, I just heard your butthole tighten all the way from Elmhurst.”

Mickey expelled a slow breath. “This is one of those rare times where I don’t really want to say something fucked up.”

“Hmm…”

“I-I really don’t think about this stuff enough to know if I have any good opinions or not,” he admitted at length. “And I didn’t have the most politically correct upbringing. I just don’t want to say something that makes you feel shittier than you do right now.”

“That means you have to put in some work then,” Carrie told him. “It’s where I am with Leslie right now. Every so often I can forget about how white she is, or how white you are--which is hard, because you guys reflect a lot of light. I can forget and we’re just us, you know? But those moments are few and far between and it’s mostly just living in a world that keeps reminding me that it thinks I’m scary and less than.” Carrie paused for a moment and seemed to think. “I guess that’s why that kumbaya shit got me so heated. I don’t want to imagine anything when the very real world continues to suck, you know. The way shit’s been going lately? I don’t think that’s changing real quick, so I need my ride-or-dies to step up and do better for me and my people. I can’t be nervous to say Black Lives Matter and share my piece around my closest when I already have the rest of the big bad world to take on.”

Mickey chewed his inner cheek, at sea. “So, what do I do?”

“Bitch, I’m not doing your homework; I’m tired,” Carrie told him. “I wouldn’t keep fucking with you and Leslie if I thought for a moment that you couldn’t be a real ones, Mickey. Just...don’t be lazy about it and don't let me down.”

**TBC**


	3. On my last damn nerve

“I can’t find flour anywhere!” Ian raged as he came stomping inside with the groceries. Mickey stopped staring in the fridge to greet his boyfriend and unthinkingly reached for him. “Back the fuck up off me; I haven’t sanitized yet!” Ian snapped and Mickey quickly retreated.

“Jesus, sorry! I didn’t know the saying was ‘don’t touch me, I’m NOT sterile,” Mickey rolled his eyes. “What were you saying about flour?”

“I can’t find any any-fucking-where,” Ian repeated. “I’m going to run out of shit to feed the sourdough starter let alone to actually bake the fucking thing,” he grumbled as he unpacked some of the bulkier items. “I know how much you want that.”

“I don’t give a fuck about sourdough. I eat whatever.” Mickey said breezily, not even mentioning the fifty loaves of bread Ian had already made in a feverish whoosh and then stuffed in the freezer. Before he could say something else monumentally stupid, Mickey’s Spidey senses alerted him to Ian slowly turning around to face him, murder radiating from the green eyes.

“You want that sourdough, Mickey,” Ian gritted out. “You want me to bake that bread because we are making the best of a difficult situation, and we’re being happy and productive and carving out a sense of normalcy out of all this bullshit. And we can’t do that if I can’t find _any.fucking.flour._ ”

Mickey’s mouth went dry with fear. “Y-yeah, that’s what I said. Fucking sucks that those assholes took all the flour. I kinda thought rich people had their own special supermarket or something.”

“We do, it’s Whole Foods, and they’re out of flour too,” Ian said as he stepped out of the kitchen to clean up. “And don’t touch those groceries!” he yelled as he walked off, stopping Mickey from doing just that. “You don’t clean them right!”

“Oh my goooood!” Tony appeared to say to his master as the bathroom door slammed in the distance.

“I fucking know, right?” Mickey whispered back to his dog. “I could make serious bank shoving coal up his ass and having him crap diamonds, he’s so uptight.”

About a half hour later, a decidedly less fraught Ian reemerged. He put off dealing with the groceries for the time being to hug and nuzzle his boyfriend as Mickey washed the dishes in the sink.

“Better now?” Mickey asked him.

“No,” Ian moaned into Mickey’s neck.

Mickey snorted softly as he dried his hands. He turned around to pull Ian close and stroke his face. “I swear to god, every time it’s like you’re coming back from war, PTSD and everything,” Mickey laughed before leaning up to kiss Ian softly. Ian returned it eagerly before returning to burying his face in Mickey’s neck and hugging him tightly.

“Wanna bang?” Mickey offered.

“No.”

“Whaddya want then?”

“Cuddles.”

“Oh my god, you really just said that? You spoke those words as a grown ass man?”

“Shut up,” Ian ordered and took Mickey’s hand to lead him into the living room. He bodily tossed Mickey onto the couch, making the latter laugh, before sprawling on top of him, wriggling around until he got comfortable.

“Man, we are rough on furniture,” Mickey mused as Ian settled on his chest. “And you know I don’t say that lightly, because Milkoviches are rough on shit by default.”

“I hate people,” Ian complained.

“Aw, no you don’t,” Mickey dropped a kiss on the top of Ian’s head and stroked his hair soothingly.

“I hate the outside. There’s nothing but hell and evil out there.”

“Well…”

“I wanted to fight so many people today.”

“Look on the bright side, at least now you know what it’s like to be me all the time, even without a pandemic.” Mickey offered. “You want me to do these runs instead?”

Ian shifted to look up at Mickey coolly. “You don’t take this seriously enough. You can barely keep your mask on for five minutes, and you would actually fight people.”

“That a no?”

Ian didn’t bother dignifying that with an answer. He eventually dozed off, soothed by Mickey’s steady heartbeat and the warm hand stroking his head. He finally woke up when Mickey had the audacity to stop his ministrations.

“Why?” Ian complained groggily.

“I was just checking my phone; the fuck. I thought you were sleeping,” Mickey replied. “You know what, get your six foot twelve ass off me anyway. I have a delivery.”

Ian refused to cooperate, forcing Mickey to shove him off and wiggle out from underneath him to go get his package downstairs. By the time Mickey got back, Ian was meticulously dealing with the groceries. He looked on warily when Mickey burst inside, clutching a large, rectangular object wrapped in parchment paper. Mickey pulled out a chair from the dining table and gingerly rested the object on it before eagerly tearing off the paper. Intrigued, Ian wandered over for the unveiling.

“What in god’s name is that?” Ian blinked after Mickey triumphantly unveiled his latest treasure.

“Art!” Mickey said triumphantly. 

Ian begged to differ. What that was, was an abomination. “Who-?”

“Jeremy sent it to me.”

_“Fucking Jeremy,”_ Ian thought to himself. He should have guessed immediately. The novel Coronavirus, ironically, was the only thing keeping Jeremy alive at the moment, since it was the only reason Ian hadn’t tracked him down yet. It was bad enough Jeremy was trying to smarm his way into Mickey’s pants, but to pretend he was the arbiter of all things subversive in the underground art world was especially galling.

“Oh let me guess, your royal highness doesn’t like this because you don’t think this is ‘art’?”

“It isn’t,” Ian said slowly, “this is just emissions on a canvas. Jeremy knows as much about art as Rudy Guiliani knows about brain surgery.”

Mickey clicked his tongue. “Jeremy said you’d say as much. He did say you were an elitist gatekeeper.” Mickey hid his amusement as Ian performed an epic eye roll with his entire body. “I mean look at it; it’s raw and su-”

“If you say subversive, I will punch you in the throat. These are Jermey words; you’re just echoing dumb shit he says. That-” Ian said, sweeping a hand over the controversial art piece, “is just robbery and fraud.”

“Well I’m sorry it’s not another black and white close up of some hairless twink, as is so popular in your little pretentious circle, but I happen to like it.”

“Of course you do, because you’re a tacky queen who is trying to wind me up.”

All of that was true, but Mickey thought it was sort of rude to just spell it out like that. “Jeremy thinks I have raw talent,” Mickey said pettily.

**_“AT WHAT?!”_ **The room was instantly bathed in a red hue and there was the smell of brimstone in the air as Ian loomed in front of him.

“At art! Art! Holy shit; chill the fuck out, Beelzebub!”

Hell retreated for the moment and Ian was contemplative. “Is that why you bought all the art supplies? Because Jeremy’s been blowing smoke up your ass?”

And also because he was bored as shit. He doubted Ian would be any happier about the drum set Mickey had chilling in his checkout cart. Still, hands down there was no greater pastime than watching Ian go green and pissed off from jealousy and irritation. “He also told me I have a real pretty mouth.”

“You know what, fuck you.” Ian said and stepped around him to head back in the kitchen. “You’re not hanging that nightmare in any of the shared spaces if you’re serious about keeping it. Stick it in the back room and terrorize Clay with it.”

That actually gave Mickey pause. “You really think it would bother Clay?”

Ian looked to the heavens from whence he hoped would come his salvation. Why was he the only living thing in their home that was medicated?

* * *

* * *

* * *

Mickey had been clicking his pen for the last six minutes. He would vary the tempo, clicking furiously one moment, then pausing for some long in-between clicks, until Ian would think he was finally free. Ian knew what he was doing, and he refused to indulge it. If Mickey wanted to fight, blow off some steam or alleviate his boredom, there was a punching bag not fifty feet from them. When Mickey’s latest clicking flurry subsided, Ian simply swiped at his screen without so much as looking up.

Mickey set the pen down and glared at Ian’s bent head. He drummed his fingers on the dining room table and narrowed his eyes. 

Ian knew what was coming the moment Mickey tore the leaf out of his art book and started shredding. A second later, the first small piece of crumpled paper hit him squarely on the nose. Ian closed his eyes, took a breath and was immediately assaulted by two other missiles.

“Knock it off. I’m not doing this with you,” Ian warned. He was rewarded for his longsuffering with a faceful of art book confetti. Ian put the tablet down. “What is your malfunction, Mickey?”

“I hate your face,” Mickey grumped sullenly.

“Why, because I only have one chin?” Ian shot back and picked up his tablet to get back to his reading. He paused, however, because a dangerous and worrying stillness had fallen over the room. He looked up to see Mickey gaping back at him.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Mickey asked quietly.

Ian’s brain had ground to a halt for a moment before the gears started spinning furiously. There were two possibilities here: either Mickey was seriously just trying to stir up drama, or he was genuinely hurt by what Ian had just flippantly said. Ian was almost certain that this was a ploy for Mickey to vent and kill a few hours, but the problem was the look Mickey had on his face. Ian knew that look. That was Mickey’s you’ve-gone-and-hurt-all-my-feelings look that as far as Ian knew, Mickey could not fake. That look destroyed Ian; he had no defense against it. If Mickey had figured out how to make that face on command, Ian was fucked. So what was the worse alternative here? That Mickey could go super saiyan kicked puppy on command, or that he was actually, genuinely hurt? Ian’s spinning wheels could churn out no answer.

“What the fuck, Ian? What did you just say to me?”

Okay, this had to be bullshit. “You just said you hated my face,” Ian pointed out. “I just said some shit back. I can’t even remember what I just said.”

“Oh no? Let me refresh your memory,” Mickey was already gesticulating far too much for Ian’s liking. “I made an obvious joke and you told me that I was fucking fat!” Mickey snapped and shoved away from the table to stalk off.

“What the fuck is happening right now?” Ian asked dazedly. “I don’t think you’re fat; where is this com-, what?! I just said some shit; I thought it was banter or whatever! And why is your thing an ‘obvious joke’ but my thing is a declaration of war?”

“Because clearly you’ve been thinking this shit ever since we've been cooped up in this bitch,” Mickey stopped to yell back. “You’ve been harping on me for weeks now!”

“Harping?!”

“'You need to get some sun, why don’t we go up on the roof more? Why don’t you hit the heavy bag if you need something to do? We have all this exercise equipment, why don’t you find a routine you like?' And now, apparently, I have too many chins.”

“Oh my god, you lunatic. I’m just trying to keep you happy and occupied, and find ways to prevent us from killing each other. This has nothing to do with what you look like! Oh my god, why am I even doing this?” Ian pinched his nose. “This is what you want. This is just negative energy transference. You’re full of shit.”

Mickey simply shook his head. “Fuck you, Ian. Tony, come on.”

Ian could only blink for a moment. “Whoa whoa! Hold on, Tony no, sit.”

Poor Tony applied the brakes and plopped down at Mickey’s feet.

“Don’t do that; do not confuse my dog,” Mickey said. “Don’t contradict the order I gave him.”

“Um, he’s our dog and I’m starting to wonder if I forgot my meds this morning and I’m slipping into another dimension. Mickey, I do not like this game. You cannot possibly be mad!”

Mickey rolled his eyes, slapped the side of his thigh to get Tony up, and promptly disappeared into the back room.

* * *

An hour had passed and Mickey had not emerged from his room and Ian was now equal parts confused and nervous. His phone rang and he raised an eyebrow when he saw it was Carrie calling. There was no way this was a good thing.

“Hello?”

“You Raggedy Ann looking, raggedy bitch,” Carrie blasted across the line.

“Oh here we go,” Ian sighed.

“Where do you get off telling anyone, in this shitshow of a year, that they’re fat and ugly!”

“Carrie, are you drunk?”

“Oh, okay, so now you wanna tell me how to- I’m not about- first of all, how dare you?!” she slurred.

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry we can’t all be on the cover of gay Maxim-”

“There’s a gay Maxim?”

“You think shit’s not gonna catch up with you too, you Soul Cycle instructor from hell?” Carrie exhaled. “White people age like milk, but I wouldn’t tell you that because that would be rude; I’d be outta pocket for that. And-and-and you said it with your whole chest, man? Just how many years of that hairline do you really think you have left though?”

“What? What do you mean by that? Why would you say that? What do you know?!” It suddenly hit Ian that while Carrie was tipsily ranting at him, Mickey had yet to come out of his room. “Mickey, I swear to god, do not call Man-” Ian’s call waiting chipped in, stopping him cold. He ignored the call.

“My grandmother says it all the time, says ‘see me and come live with me are two different things.’ And that’s real because after all the _sturm und drang_ , you think you know a person and then they tell you you’re fat and-and too sensitive and over reactionary and promoting division. Hold on a sec, Mandy’s calling me.”

“Oh god,” Ian sighed and lay on the floor as a multi-party line opened on his phone.

* * *

It was nearing midnight and Ian sat up in bed glaring unseeingly at the TV in his bedroom while he scratched behind Lola’s ears. It had been hours since Mickey had apparently called off the hounds and declared a ceasefire; unless there were a couple B-52s still en route to his location to bomb the shit out his bedroom. Despite the detente, Mickey had not so much as cracked his bedroom door open all day, and Ian’s turbulent cycle of emotions had finally settled on pissed.

He gave a sidelong glance at his slightly ajar door when he heard Mickey’s cautiously push open; no doubt finally flushed out by his hunger. He watched Mickey’s form sweep quickly across his threshold before Tony paused to poke his nose in to sniff the air in greeting before once again retreating to chase after his master. Lola was on her feet at the sound of Mickey’s movements and sniffed the air delicately. She yipped at Ian before taking off like a shot after Mickey and Tony. She clearly planned to horn in on whatever snack situation was unfolding out in the kitchen. Minutes later she was back with a mouth full of treats that she plopped on the floor. 

“Et tu, Lola?” Ian asked drily. 

Lola peeked up and nosed a couple of the treats in Ian’s direction as if in apology. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Ian only rolled his eyes and watched as Mickey fled back to his room, no doubt now laden with food.

About a couple hours later and there was still no sound from his boyfriend. Thoroughly fed up, Ian got up and went to get him. Mickey’s door was unlocked and Ian quietly pushed it open and stepped inside. If he wasn’t seven kinds of pissed off, Ian could have almost appreciated the adorable, slumbering tangle of man, beast and enormous stuffed animal. Mickey was passed out on Clay’s chest, undoubtedly in a food coma, while Tony served as Mickey’s gently snoring footwarmer. Only Clay remained vigilant--the giant red bear staring unblinkingly at Ian.

Mickey’s sleeping only irritated Ian more. Of course Mickey had no problems sleeping. No, it was Ian that was the simp who couldn’t stand his empty bed and needed the warmth of his asshole, shit-stirrer boyfriend to feel at peace and comfortable. Instead, Mickey was blacked out and Ian was left staring at the back of his head thinking how perfect the conditions were for a case of justifiable homicide.

Still, Ian did not give into the urge to take one of the many pillows strewn about and suffocate Mickey with it. In part because love or whatever, but also because for all the shit he gave Mickey about his Clay delusions, Ian wasn’t completely certain that the stuffed bear wouldn’t come to life in a defensive homicidal rage if Ian was to try anything untoward. Even now, Clay’s glassy, green gaze was unsettling and wary.

“You know, technically, I’m the one that bought you, so…” Ian began but trailed off because one, he was about to engage in conversation with a freaking teddy bear, and two, Clay could clearly not give less of a shit. “Fine, whatever.” Ian murmured and left them to it.

* * *

Mickey peered out cautiously from his bedroom door that morning and tried to detect if there was any Sulphur in the air. He could hear Ian’s soft shuffling from the dining room, but couldn’t read the mood from his hiding spot. He looked down at Tony who looked back up at him expectantly.

“Go,” Mickey whispered to his dog, and Tony was off like a shot to greet Ian as the latter sat at the dining room table. Ian grinned down at the fluffy golden retriever and gave him a hearty double scratch behind the ears and a head rub. Thusly assured, Tony trotted a short way back up the passage and barked a couple times, apparently telling Mickey the coast was clear.

“Yeah alright, calm down,” Mickey shushed the eager dog as he shuffled out into the open. “I told you to be cool about this.”

Tony might have gotten a warm welcome, but the temperature fell sharply as Mickey approached, and Ian coolly sipped his coffee and ignored Mickey’s cautious approach.

“Hey,” Mickey greeted. Ian looked up and swept his body from head to toe with a look so withering, a less brazen and maddening soul than Mickey Milkovich would have crumpled to the dirt. Instead, Mickey just scratched his cheek and nodded at Ian’s black coffee. “That all you having? I’m going to make some breakfast; I’ll make you something. You know what happens when you take those meds on an empty stomach.” 

Ian only took another sip and drilled green lasers into Mickey’s head. Mickey cleared his throat and hightailed it to the kitchen.

Soon after, Mickey was back, ladened with eggs, sausage and toast. He slipped Ian’s generous plate in front of the stubbornly silent man and even returned to get him orange juice. Ian only kept shooting Mickey glares as the latter finally took his seat across from him and started to dig in. Mickey tucked into his breakfast, knowing full well that for all Ian’s fuming silence, a countdown timer had started the second he left his bedroom.

“You know I’m just curious about a couple things,” Ian started, the timer having hit zero. “At what point yesterday did you realize that you were being just a humongous asshole?”

Mickey swallowed his eggs and took a swig of his orange juice as he thought. “Around eight, I guess?”

“Eight o’clock last night?”

“Probably would have been sooner, but me and Mandy got each other hyped and then I fell asleep for a bit,” Mickey nodded.

“Fell asleep? Your sister and bff tore chunks out of my soul and fed on it like the emotional vampires that they are! They hit on insecurities I didn’t even know I had. Apparently my legs are ‘bony’ and not ‘all that’? Were you aware of this? Do you know how much time I spent last night reviewing my family tree for our history of male pattern baldness; do you?!”

Mickey took a hesitant bite of his toast, for it may very well be his last meal. “Carrie says sorry, by the way. Said she forgot for a minute that you signed her checks.”

“So you realized at eight that you were dumb,” Ian said. “Why weren’t we together at 8:01?”

“Just figured I’d ride it out by that point,” Mickey mumbled.

“Just fucking figured you-” Ian bit his tongue. “As a point of clarity, I don’t think you’re fat. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you...physically! I tell you you’re hot like every other day!”

“I know,” Mickey said breezily. “I don’t do that basic training shit you do, but I keep my shit tight.”

“Then what the motherfuck, Mickey?!” Ian blared.

“That was the opening you gave me!” Mickey explained as if this wasn’t the heights of lunacy. “I was trying to get you to come fuck me up. Well, you kinda did but not the way I actually wanted.”

“I knew it. I fucking knew it. I knew what you were doing and I still let you... god-fucking-dammit.”

“Not gonna lie though, shit did sting for a minute,” Mickey offered. “I mean I know I’m straight fit, but am I gay fat? New York fucks with you sometimes.”

Ian could only stare in hopeless disbelief. “The other thing, the face; can you just make that face whenever you want now?”

“What face?”

“The face, the face! The fucking-” Ian waved his hand wildly over his own face and then flailed at Mickey’s. “Like I fucking shot you. Oh my god, is that your quarantine superpower?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Gallagher.” Mickey said.

“Oh you asshole,” Ian sighed heavily. “You are sucking my dick all day today.”

“Okay,” Mickey said through another bite of his breakfast. “But don’t you have a couple meetings that you-”

“All.Fucking.Day!”

“Tsk, fine. Threaten me with a good time.”

“Oh my god, It really doesn’t matter how much you fuck up, does it? You have this pathological need to get in the last word in every situation that I’m just going to have to fuck out of you.”

Was that supposed to be a threat? Mickey wasn’t sure if Ian remembered what a threat was, as opposed to a promise Mickey sincerely hoped he kept. Also, Mickey wasn’t a psychologist, but he was pretty sure that punishment/reward system would be inherently flawed and counterproductive to its desired goals. Still, he certainly wanted Ian to give it the old college try. Instead of saying any of that however, Mickey wisely stuffed his mouth with toast so Ian wouldn’t end up snapping his neck before the first blow job. So maybe there was something to the theory after all.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Bittersweet. Was there a better word to describe the world right then? Lola doubted it. She sighed softly as she sat before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and surveyed her domain of the sprawling city beneath her. The world had changed so much, and yet, it was hard to pinpoint exactly how or why. 

What she did know was that her humans were here, rarely ever leaving, hardly ever out of the reach of her nose. It was a euphoric experience, petting and treats on tap, near constant attention, but for when her humans were caught up treating and petting each other--activities so time and labour intensive, it amazed her they engaged in them so often and so willingly. Honestly, it just felt like an exercise in being high maintenance at some points; no one needed to be petted that much.

Still, this time of plenty has not without its drawbacks. Walks required stratagems and extra gear, the dog parks were an awkward dance of safety and socialization. And the scrutiny, god, the scrutiny. Her humans’ constant presence gave her no leeway, so small scope to truly express herself. With these new restrictions came the near unbearable psychological tension of a life stalled, her potential wasted and unfulfilled.

With each passing day, the desire to buck the rules ballooned and strained to breaking point. She was a terrier, damn it; she needed crime and chaos. But how could she, when Ian cuddled her close, and Tony continued to be a tragedy of a wing man? And Mickey, oh the bitter irony of Mickey. If anyone understood it was him; she could smell a fellow terror terrier from a country mile out. But he was being tempered and tamed as well, and instead of being her partner in crime, he was her greatest foil.

He knew her ways, anticipated her tricks, read her mind and protected the Great Stuffed One with his life. Oh what could have been if these hopeless men would just bend to her will. Lola sighed again as she contemplated the dying of the light. How long would this new normal endure? How could she relieve this tension? Surely there were ways to circumvent-

“Ay!”

Her reverie was broken and she turned to see Mickey staring at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He had paused his quest to retrieve whipped cream to watch Lola’s quiet plotting.

“Whatever the fuck you’re thinking of doing; don’t fucking do it,” Mickey ordered. He pointed to his eyes and then pointed at her. “I’m watching you.”

“Jesus, how long does it take to get some whipped cream, Mick?”

“Got it,” Mickey waved the can aloft, his eyes not leaving Lola just yet even as a naked Ian came up behind him and grabbed him.

“Good, c’mere,” Ian growled and they both stumbled laughing back into their room.

Lola returned to her plotting. Another petting session, and so freaking elaborate too. Honestly, it boggled the mind.

**TBC**


	4. Big Mood Music

**WAP- Cardi B ft. Megan Thee Stallion**

Mickey came back into their bedroom to find Ian stark naked in the middle of their bed, lazily stroking himself while _Double Impact_ played on mute on their television. 

“Really? Are you kidding me?” Mickey said as he paused next to the bed. “I was gone for two freaking minutes.”

“You were gone for way longer than two minutes,” Ian countered. “I was just keeping the blood flowing while you decided to fuss over the dogs.”

“Yeah sure. Do you even need me anymore or should I give you and Mr. Van double Damme here some time alone?”

“Shut up and come here,” Ian ordered.

Mickey snorted but crawled into the bed, knowing Ian would snatch him the moment he was within arm’s reach. Ian did just that; grabbing Mickey and pulling until Mickey was on top of him. Mickey sat astride Ian and pulled back, creating some space so he could brace a hand on Ian’s chest and grasp his boyfriend’s hardened cock with the other.

“I don’t know if I even want to use dick that ain’t mine,” Mickey mused as he squeezed the base of Ian’s shaft and slowly slid his grip towards the head.

“It’s yours,” Ian hissed as Mickey stroked him “You know it’s always yours.” He switched the tv off and sent the remote skipping across the bed. He snaked a hand around Mickey’s head and pulled him down until their lips met. He moaned into Mickey’s mouth as Mickey kept pumping his cock.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Mickey whispered against Ian’s lips. Ian had finished going rock hard in his grip. “I think this is my cock. All mine.”

Mickey released his hold so he could brace his hands on either side of Ian’s head. They both gasped as Mickey rocked down, rubbing his clothed erection against Ian’s bare, hot flesh. Ian slipped both hands beneath the waistband of Mickey’s boxers and kneaded Mickey’s ass; squeezing encouragingly as Mickey bit at his lower lip and ground against him.

Ian pulled Mickey’s boxers down to bare his ass and free his straining cock. He thrust up, frotting a little faster against Mickey as he kept one groping Mickey’s buttock and the other slid up to tangle in Mickey’s hair to keep him in place. The aggression and urgency of the kiss heightened and soon they were panting with exertion as they ground harder and faster against each other.

Mickey broke the kiss with a laugh and abruptly pulled away from Ian, who simply followed him, anticipating the game. Ian sat up and hugged Mickey closer, plunging his hand back into Mickey’s hair and pulling him in for another eating kiss. Mickey groaned his submission and cupped Ian’s face as he was sucked in, all the breath being stolen from him. Ian broke the kiss long enough to flip Mickey roughly onto his back and drag his boxers off completely, eliciting another breathy laugh of heady arousal out of his boyfriend.

Ian smirked down, taking in Mickey’s flushed face and bruised lips as he settled between Mickey’s thighs.

“Heh fucker,” Mickey teased, revelling in Ian’s smugness. He gasped as Ian suddenly gripped his throat, Ian’s thumb resting on the racing pulse in his throat.

“Yeah,” Ian whispered hoarsely and released Mickey’s throat so he could stretch out on top of him and resume their kiss. He pressed kisses along Mickey’s jawline until he could suck on the column of Mickey’s throat, making Mickey shiver.

“You want to get in the bubble or what?”

It took a second to hit before Ian burst out laughing. “What?” he said, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at Mickey. “The bubble? What the fuck is that, sexy quarantine humour? How long have you been workshopping that?”

“A minute. I’ve been getting rave reviews about it,” Mickey said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Ian huffed softly and leaned back down to pick up from where he paused. 

“Always making me wait,” Mickey gasped as Ian reached to play with his cock and brush a tantalizing finger across his entrance. “Get on me already.”

Ian reached across blindly to the bedside table and made contact with the flattened tube. Ian stopped to pick up the desiccated tube that had been squeezed dry of all its hopes and dreams. Ian tossed it in the wastebasket and reached for the bottle instead. There was nothing left in the bottle but the suggestion of strawberries.

“Seriously?” Ian sighed and rolled off Mickey to get out of bed.

“Grab the one in the shower,” Mickey suggested, which was just what Ian had been about to do.

“Fuck,” Ian said in disbelief and he stared at the overturned, uncapped bottle that must have been dripping down the drain all morning. They had had some fun that morning and clearly hadn’t paid attention when putting away the bottle in their hurry.

Mickey raised a questioning eyebrow when Ian returned empty-handed.

“Spilled.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Mickey said incredulously. He thought for a moment. “We have that warming massage thing, right?” Mickey said as he got out of bed and headed out the door. “I think we left it in the living room.”

“Yeah, I think we finished that too,” Ian said, going after him and watching as Mickey rifled fruitlessly through the couch cushions.

“When?!”

“Couple weeks ago, remember? My shoulder was fucked up so you used it to give me a massage. Then I felt really good afterwards so I made you feel really good afterwards?” Ian said, nodding suggestively. “On the home gym?”

“Who the fuck are you telling this story to?” Mickey wondered. “I was there. I was the one doing all the physiotherapy and getting dicked down afterwards. I remembered immediately after you said that it was a couple weeks ago when your shoulder was fucked up. Just how far were you going to wander down memory lane here?”

Ian ignored him. “Alexa, we’re out of all our lube.”

“While you’re reordering all of that, I’ll head down to Duane Reade and pick something up. Maybe Mr. Van Damme can keep you company again until then,” Mickey said and went to get dressed.

“Oh hey, no no no no no,” Ian grabbed Mickey’s arm and stopped him in his tracks. “We just went into lockdown, remember? There’s no going out.”

“It’s a pharmacy though. Essential services are still open,” Mickey pointed out.

“Yeah, so you can get essential stuff. Lube is not an essential item, Mick.”

“The fuck it ain’t! It is absolutely essential, because if you think I’m riding that cock dry, you’re either crazy or watching too many Showtime Original Series that sometimes have, at best, a very shaky grasp of the ins and outs of gay sex.”

“Strangely specific but okay?” Ian said, raising an eyebrow. “But no. We don’t even know what could go down out there.”

“That’s true every day,” Mickey pointed out. “Ian, it’s lockdown, not the Purge. It’s just a couple blocks, real quick.” Mickey sighed when he saw the chin lift. “Jesus, so what are we supposed to do then?”

“Get a little creative, that’s all.” Ian suggested and headed into the kitchen while Mickey looked on skeptically. “You’ve gotten spoiled by all the fancy lubes on the market.”

“So what’s the alternative here, you gonna spray some Pam up my ass?”

“Well it is butter flavoured,” Ian joked. He then suddenly grabbed a mayonnaise packet out of their condiment jar and shook it at Mickey. “I mean?”

Mickey took a deep breath. “Fuuuck you.”

“What?”

“You are not squirting fast food mayonnaise up my ass!” Mickey was adamant.

“Technically, I’ve been squirting mayonnaise up your ass on a near daily basis for the past two years, so…”

“Fuck this, fuck that,” Mickey said pointing to the mayo. “And fuck you! I don’t even know why it’s setting me off like this. It’s like I can smell it; it’s like I can feel it, just nope! Fuck you, Jeffrey Dahmer!”

“Well I don’t hear any blue sky thinking coming from your end!” Ian yelled after Mickey as his boyfriend retreated to their bedroom. “How about if I use the artisanal mayo? I can whip up a light aioli?”

None of the noises coming from the bedroom sounded encouraging, so Ian decided to keep on hunting. By the time Mickey returned to the kitchen, Ian was reading the back of the coconut oil bottle and was casually smoothing his stubble with his massive butcher knife.

“So is this the way I’m gonna go?” Mickey asked drily and Ian quickly put the knife away. “So are we going to jerk off into your condiments all night or are we gonna bang? We can at least sixty-nine this shit.”

“Coconut oil is fine, right?” Ian followed behind Mickey, taking the bottle with him. “It’s a thing, right? Yeah, it’s definitely a thing.”

“You are dead set on marinating me tonight, huh?”

“I’m just trying to get inside the bubble, Mick.”

“Whatever, we’ll figure it out when I’m sitting on your face.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

**Sock it 2 me- Missy Elliot ft. Da Brat**

“Bingo!”

“Piss off,” Ian yawned as Mickey marched triumphantly into the dining room.

“Nope, for real this time,” Mickey said and tossed the bingo card down before a very skeptical Ian, who begrudgingly picked it up.

“And what’s supposedly giving you the bingo this time, suicidal lemmings?”

“Aliens.”

“Fuck off.”

“Serious as a heart attack,” Mickey said and placed his phone with all its evidence in Ian’s hands. “Even if you ignore all the shit the Pentagon’s releasing, a high ranking government official basically confirmed it.”

“A ‘galactic federation’?” Ian scoffed. “And what high ranking official? It’s some crackpot from Israel.”

“What’s your point, America First? I didn’t say it was an American official,” Mickey shot back. “He was their defense secretary or some shit. Does it only count if an American says it? Sounding real racist, bro.”

“It’s not racist, it’s ethnocentric,” Ian grumbled, the wind leaking more swiftly from his sails the further he got into his sentence, “or maybe xenophobic--but fucking fuck you, this is nonsense. There aren’t aliens right now!”

“Maybe there are, maybe there aren’t,” Mickey shrugged, “I don’t know what authority you have to call bullshit on a defense secretary. All I’m saying is, I think I have more than sufficiently covered my bases to win covid bingo.”

Ian gave another acidic glance over Mickey’s bingo card. “Fine, whatever. I acknowledge your dumb, stupid, fraudulent bingo win. You fucking rigged it anyway.”

“Such a gracious loser; you’re truly an inspiration,” Mickey said cheerfully. “So, you ready to do this then?”

Ian’s head lolled back in exasperation. “Are you serious though? You really want to do this? Can’t I just suck your dick in some super creative way or something?”

“Unless you’re willing to start popping some teeth out, I don’t know what new you can bring to the table today,” Mickey said drily. “Nah, we’re sticking to the original terms. No welshing.”

Ian exhaled heavily in exasperation and surrender. “Fine! I guess today is the day we shotgun beers up our asses.”

“Go get ‘em,” Mickey ordered and Ian rolled his eyes as he shoved away from the table to head to the fridge. “Oh, and make them some of your craft, draft, IPA, hippie-dippie, hipster bullshit. We’re going fancy today, son,” Mickey continued, grinning devilishly. “Only the best goes up this shitter.”

“Ugh god, why?!” Ian complained loudly to the heavens while Mickey only laughed. Just one more thing off the bucket list.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**Regulate- Warren G ft. Nate Dogg**

“It’s Mickey, 100%. You’ve got to vote him out or we’re losing this thing.”

“It’s always Mickey,” Mickey’s derisive snort was clearly audible to the players. “You know the imposter is randomized, right? It’s statistically impossible for me to be the imposter every single time, and yet…”

“Because you’re always sus, always!” Eric countered. “Devin’s dead and the two of you ran past me coming down from Electrical. It has to be you. Guys, I’m telling you I saw him vent earlier and this just confirms it.”

“I didn’t vent, you’re just lagging on your fucking Windows 95 set up,” Mickey said lazily as some snickers filtered in. “I’m not gonna hate on you for trying to cover your ass though.”

“What?!” Eric gasped. 

“Guys, we don’t have much time to decide and we can’t get this wrong,” Carrie warned. “Eric, where were you after the lights went again?”

“Of course Carrie’s gonna simp for Mickey and try to throw it on me! Carrie, I promise we’re on the same side here!”

“Notice he’s not actually answering the question?” Mickey pointed out. “You always get all wild and sputtery when you’re rightly getting called out. But the ex-con is automatically shady, right?”

“You kinda do freak out when you’re feeling guilty, Eric…” Annie agreed suspiciously.

“Oh my god, oh my god, you guys,” Eric flailed. “You always let him talk his way out of shit and he’s always fucking guilty.”

“Whatever, I’m voting,” Mickey said and locked in his vote for Eric.

“Sorry, Eric; your lack of chill is kinda sus right now,” Annie said as she voted.

“Guys, you’re so gonna regret this,” Eric moaned, but his protests were in vain. The last vote was locked in and he was summarily ejected.

Then there was silence. The game did not end. Eric was not the imposter. Mickey’s smile was slow and dangerous as he sabotaged the nuclear reactor. He quickly made his way to its entrance to camp there. Either the reactor would kill them all, or some panicked crewmate would be coming along any moment to try and fix it. It was Annie to the rescue, and her diligence was rewarded with Mickey’s knife in her back. Indignant, incoherent screeches immediately filled the room as the victorious imposters were revealed.

“Mickey and Raj?!” Carrie gasped over the fray.

“I fucking told you!” Eric huffed.

Mickey only grinned and took a last sip of his beer. “I fucking love this game.”

“Because you’re a diabolical genius at it,” Ian said as he passed Mickey on his way to the kitchen. 

Mickey ended the session with his friends and eventually slid past Ian to retrieve another beer out of the fridge.

“You read that link I sent you?” Ian asked him.

Mickey only gave Ian a brief sidelong glance in answer. Ian should have known by then that if it wasn’t funny, sexy, gross or some combination of the three, Mickey wasn’t having it. “What?”

“It was about the vaccine rollout,” Ian informed him. “Something’s finally happening. Pretty sure early stages are going to be a shitshow but it’ll iron out. I’m going to find out where we fall on the list. We’re pretty low risk, so it might be a while, but it’ll be good to know at least.”

“Oh, you’re actually taking that shit?” Mickey said with casual curiosity before wariness overtook him. There was something about the way Ian slowly drained his bottle before deliberately setting it down on the counter, that put Mickey on high alert. He swallowed when Ian turned to face him fully.

“Yes, we are,” Ian said slowly and softly, even while emphasizing each word. He took a step towards Mickey who quickly took a matching step back. “Did you think otherwise?”

Mickey hesitated. “No, it’s just, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Ian said as he kept advancing.

“I mean, I just thought maybe we were going to see how things played out first, that’s all. I mean flying cars would be cool, but you don’t want the first one, right?” Mickey had run out of retreat room and his back bumped into the wall. Now Ian loomed over him, and there had to be something with the way Ian’s height seemed to fluctuate depending on his mood. Shit wasn’t normal. “I mean it’s kinda fast right? For a vaccine? It normally takes years, right? Skepticism is healthy, Ian!”

“Mikhailo-”

_Why could it be so pants-wettingly scary when significant others use your government name?_ Mickey wondered to himself as Ian adjusted and smoothed the front of Mickey’s tank top.

“-we talked about this, remember?” Ian continued softly. “About how it feels faster because of the urgency and all the resources being pumped into the research and development, which unfortunately isn’t typical for most medical research-”

“I just-”

“And we had learned that the science isn’t starting from zero with this. SARS? That’s another coronavirus.”

“Yeah but-”

“Look, any concerns you have, we can get answers for from non-hysterical, tin-hat free, reputable resources, okay? But Mick-” Ian’s voice was barely above a whisper as he leaned down to almost brush Mickey’s face with his own. Mickey’s mouth went dry. “You’re taking that vaccine. You’re not fighting me on this. You’re not going to give me a hard time. Before that happens, I’ll just wait until you’re asleep and stab you with it. I think you want a professional doing it instead. We good on this?”

“Sure thing, daddy.”

If there was a quicker way to mollify Ian, Mickey had yet to learn it. That smug little smile of triumph on Ian’s face was almost worth Mickey getting his head ripped off...almost. The scary fucker.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**Big Poppa- Notorious B.I.G.**

“How’s it going, birthday boy?” Lip asked his brother after he got Ian on the phone.

“Been great so far.”

“Yeah? What are you doing?”

“Ah, nothing too crazy,” Ian said. “Decided to start a little passion project I’ve been researching for a while--shaping up to be pretty good.”

“Trust you to be productive on your birthday. Mickey helping you out?”

“Eh, he’s kinda tied up in his own stuff right now,” Ian admitted.

“Seriously? Tell him it’s your pandemic-tainted birthday and he needs to be totally accommodating and accessible,” Lip snorted.

“He is! I’m not complaining.”

“Uh huh…” Lip said, slightly suspicious. “Just remember we’re all hopping online later for a little family get-together. I’ll send you the link when I set it up.”

“Yeah, totally.”

“Alright, love you, asshole. Try and have a good day today.”

Ian ended the call and checked his face and teeth in his bedroom mirror before Mickey’s humming caught his attention. He silenced the phone, left it on the dresser and went to sit next to his boyfriend who lay supine in their bed. He undid Mickey’s ball gag and tossed it aside.

“Hey,” Ian greeted him and unscrewed the bottle of water he had on the bedside table.

“Hey,” Mickey returned after he’d had his fill.

“How’s the feeling?”

“Feeling a little bit like a trussed up turkey, but in a good way?” Mickey hazarded. “You’re a fucking freak, you know that?”

Ian only smiled and ran his thumb slowly along the elaborate patterns of the red Shibari ropes adorning the length of Mickey’s body. Mickey’s hands were bound tightly to his sides, and Ian ran light fingers over tattooed ones before stroking Mickey’s thighs and the ropes encircling each one.

“But how does it feel though,” Ian insisted. “You’re comfortable, right? You’re not hurting, or cramping or freaking out?”

“My delicate flower quivers at your daring manhood, but otherwise I’m fine,” Mickey said with a roll of his eyes. “Nah, I’m good; can’t really move though.”

“Smartass,” Ian murmured. “I should just leave the gag on permanently.”

“Yeah sure, you know you love when my mouth gets going,” Mickey teased. “And speaking of getting things going. When are we getting this show on the road?”

“You are the show,” Ian said simply. 

He reached down to massage Mickey’s balls, lightly pressing his thumb against Mickey’s perineum before running it up the underside of Mickey’s hardening cock. He smiled as Mickey’s breath hitched and the latter shifted, trying to bear down further into Ian’s ministration. Ian continued to admire the intricate shapes of the ropes across Mickey’s body as he grasped Mickey’s cock and began stroking him until Mickey was bucking into the warmth of his hand. 

Ian quickened his strokes, tightening his grasp on Mickey’s cock and revelling in Mickey’s strangled cries and the reaction of Mickey’s body from the parted lips to the curled toes. Soon, Mickey was spilling hotly into Ian’s hand and gasping Ian’s name as he slumped bonelessly in their bed. Ian released Mickey’s cock, and slowly and deliberately licked Mickey’s cum off his thumb, his eyes never leaving Mickey’s. 

“Fuck,” Mickey sighed and Ian only smiled a little wider. 

Ian finished cleaning up his hand and Mickey with the wipes by the bed and tossed them into the waiting wastebasket. “Which reminds me!” he said suddenly and got up from the bed. “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Mickey blinked dazedly at Ian leaving the room. “What reminds you of what?” Mickey called after him. “Where the fuck are you going?!”

“I’ll be right back, just two minutes!”

Left alone in the room, Mickey’s mind immediately went into contingency mode. He wiggled around experimentally, testing the limits of the very secure ropes. _“Fucking Boy Scout,”_ Mickey thought to himself. Of course Ian would be talented at this. Ian hadn’t bound his thighs together--no doubt so he could spread them at will--but Mickey’s ankles had been tied. In the event Ian was abducted by aliens or the revolution came, Mickey figured he could roll off the bed and maybe worm wiggle to help. What he would tell his would-be rescuers would be another trial. Before he could switch to another disaster scenario, Ian was back with a small bowl in hand.

“You went to get ice cream?!” Mickey said incredulously.

“Yeah, it’s my birthday,” Ian told him and leaned casually against the dresser so he could eat his ice cream and take in the erotic scene before him. “Doesn’t matter who you are, you deserve two things on your birthday: ice cream-” Ian said, nodding to the bowl and taking a spoonful, “-and cake,” he finished, nodding to Mickey and grinning suggestively.

“Oh my god,” Mickey whispered, mystified. “How are you real, Gallagher?”

“I ask myself the same thing about you all the time.”

Mickey laughed and sank back against their pillows. His mind briefly drifted back to when he was in the Southside and had seen Ian for the first time on the cover of that tech magazine. If someone had told him that a few years later, he would be bound and gagged in that man’s bed, just waiting for him to do his worst, well...Well actually, Mickey would have been one hundred and fifty percent there for it, even then, but who would have guessed that guy on that magazine cover had it in him? 

“What are you thinking about?” Ian asked, seeing the smile play on Mickey’s lips.

“What are **_you_ ** thinking about?” Mickey asked back. “Is this your thing now?”

“Don’t know yet,” Ian mused with the spoon in his mouth. “I’m thinking about it; jury’s still out.”

“Uh huh,” Mickey said, unconvinced. “You did all that research, practiced all that shit, symmetrically framed my nips and my balls, but the jury’s still out?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Fuck you, you are having way too much fun right now. You’re just trying to figure out how often you want this in rotation,” Mickey scoffed.

Ian did not respond to that. Instead he put down the empty bowl and spoon on the dresser and turned back to Mickey. “You do look fucking amazing though,” he breathed out and Mickey felt a frission of excitement run up his spine. Mickey’s anticipation only ramped up when Ian pulled his shirt off and yanked off his sweats and underwear. “What’s the word?” Ian asked as he climbed into the bed to stretch out alongside Mickey.

“Huh?” Mickey asked, too distracted by Ian’s arousal and the promise of what was to come to focus properly.

“That’s not your word,” Ian chided gently as he wet his thumb and swiped it across Mickey’s nipple. “I’m not going further until you remind me what your word is.”

“You’re so extra,” Mickey sighed. “Banana,” he murmured his matching safety word to Ian’s “strawberry.”

Ian slid further down the bed, gliding his hands down the length of Mickey’s body as he headed downwards. Soon he was once again cupping Mickey’s balls in his hand before he slowly and measuredly swallowed down Mickey’s hardening cock.

Mickey sighed his relief and pleasure as Ian took his time playing with him. He gazed at the red hair as Ian’s head slowly bobbed and he felt Ian’s tongue expertly flick across the slit of his cock. He briefly mourned the loss of Ian’s mouth when the latter moved instead to kiss and bite at the flesh of Mickey’s thighs left bare by the special bindings. But soon Ian was back, settling better between Mickey’s parted knees so he could take Mickey in his mouth again, and watch his reactions.

Ian rubbed and pinched Mickey’s left nipple as he repeatedly plunged his mouth down the length of Mickey’s cock as Mickey threw his head back and arched into the wet heat of it. Ian slowed down to focus his attention on the head of Mickey’s cock and delighted at the powerful shudder that rocked Mickey’s body as he did so. Ian paused and reached up to trail his thumb along the bottom of Mickey’s parted lips and laughed when Mickey’s playfully bit him.

“Suck,” Ian ordered thickly, and Mickey immediately complied, sucking on the two fingers Ian presented to him and coating them as best as he could. A moment later, those fingers were inside him, making Mickey cry out in pleasure and heightening his awareness of the ties that bound him.

“Oh fuck you,” Mickey said shakily as Ian’s fingers worked deep inside him. “You’re so…”

“I’m so…?” Ian teased as he massaged Mickey’s prostate. “What’s up, cat got your tongue.”

“I hate you so much sometimes, just-” And now he understood why Ian loved these ropes so much. Ian could torture him to his heart’s content and there was nothing Mickey could do to stop it.

“Just what?” Ian asked. Mickey had no answer anymore, lost as he was in Ian’s eyes that never left him, the deft fingers inside him and their insistent pressure on his prostate. Ian withdrew his fingers when he saw Mickey’s pre-cum pearling on his cock. “Don’t come without me,” Ian ordered.

“Yeah, because that’s how that works. If you want a mutual moment, you might have some catching up to do,” Mickey warned him. 

Ian rolled his eyes and fought back a smile. Until the day he died, Mickey would never be able to even pretend to be docile. He slapped Mickey’s hip and reached over to grab the lube off the nightstand. Ian quickly slicked his cock and slipped his lubricated fingers into Mickey once more to finish preparing him. He finally lifted Mickey’s legs and rested the bound ankles on his shoulder before slowly pushing into Mickey.

“There...are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Mickey grunted, his eyes fluttering closed as Ian began to move. He reopened his eyes to find Ian’s unwavering gaze on him. He moaned and slowly wet his lip, knowing exactly how those green eyes would narrow and darken in response. 

Ian gripped Mickey’s hip tightly as he surged against him. He shifted, angling his body slightly to aim for Mickey’s prostate, and was rewarded with Mickey brokenly calling out his name when he found his target. Ian rocked faster, snapping his hips against Mickey’s as he ran his hand along the length of Mickey’s legs and thighs, while the other found his lover’s throat. Mickey gasped and moaned as Ian slammed against him and he began to surrender to the heat and urgency of the moment.

“I’m almost there,” Ian told him breathlessly, “I’m so close; wait for me. Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me,” Mickey pleaded and Ian immediately acquiesced, jerking Mickey off in quick, harsh strokes as his own peak overtook him. “Do it,” he told Mickey, granting Mickey his release so they came together and crashed back to earth in a tangle.

“Fuck,” Mickey laughed as Ian collapsed next to him. “Ha, okay,” he said as he tried to catch his breath. They both lay panting for the moment until Mickey, as usual, regained his full power of speech first. “Just how many times have you come since you woke up this morning, huh?” he asked Ian. “How much fuck do you have left in you?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Ian replied. He rolled onto his side and raised himself up on his elbow to gaze down at Mickey. “We good?”

“I’m excellent. Don’t know about you.”

Of course Ian was never simply going to just take Mickey’s word for it and began his inspection of the ties and Mickey’s condition. Mickey figured at this point that Ian’s fussbudget attentiveness to his safety and aftercare was as much a part of Ian’s kinks as anything else. After coming to that conclusion, it was much easier for Mickey to just let Ian do his thing as opposed to getting impatient and telling him to hurry up all the time. 

“These ropes have no give, so stop trying to bust out of them Hulk style,” Ian chided.

“I thought that was kind of the point.”

“The point of it is for you to trust me,” Ian told him, “not for you to try dislocating your shit because you’re disobedient. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“So don’t,” Mickey retorted, then scoffed softly when Ian tensed slightly and looked up at him with his patented puppy eyes. “I didn’t mean that any deeper than the rope burns, Ian,” he said soothingly. “I trust you, a hundred percent. You know that.”

“Good,” Ian murmured softly and Mickey laughed a little.

“You’re always so nervous and way in your feelings any time you debut these kinks of yours. You’re too cute,” Mickey teased.

“Whatever, shut up.”

“Shut me up,” Mickey challenged him, but instead of the attack he tried to provoke, Ian only leaned up to softly kiss him breathless instead. Satisfied that Mickey was none the worse for wear due to their play, Ian stretched back out next to Mickey again. “You know, from my angle with the ankle ropes and my feet on your shoulder, it sort of looked like you were playing some kind of goth, Ed Gein-style cello.”

“I swear to god, Mick, your brain is as amazing as it is abnormal.”

“I’m just saying though, I play a mean skin flute. Maybe we can collaborate some time.”

Ian was not about to spend any of his precious birthday moments engaging Mickey in one of his absurdist, stream of consciousness, borderline psychopathic conversations. That could be reserved for any other day of the year. He had his assessment to complete. “How much help do you need turning over?”

“Really?”

“I need to see what this looks like from all aspects, Mick. It goes towards my final decision.”

“Oh right, because the jury is still out on whether you’re into this or not, sure,” Mickey grunted as Ian helped him roll over onto his stomach. “Still undecided,” he said as Ian stuffed a pillow underneath him to support and keep his hips raised. “When will you ever figure it out?”

Ian was blissfully ignoring the needling, choosing instead to admire his handiwork woven across Mickey’s back and down to the curve of his backside. He knelt behind Mickey, straddling his legs and ran his hands up the back of Mickey’s thighs to rub and squeeze his ass. Ian kept one hand firm on Mickey’s buttock while he ran up the other up the length of Mickey’s back and neck, until it was fisting in Mickey’s hair and pulling his head back. When Ian leaned forward to nip at Mickey’s ear and neck, the hard, warm weight of his erection rested along the groove of Mickey’s ass.

“Guess you still have some fuck left in you after all-”

Whatever other thoughts Mickey may have felt like sharing then were cut off as Ian tightened his grip on his hair and pushed inside him. Ian fucked him hard and fast, assured that Mickey wouldn’t snap and break with the less than gentle treatment. Ian came hard, his own release pushing Mickey over the edge. Ian fell heavily against Mickey’s back and breathed harshly into Mickey’s neck.

“I think I like this,” Ian moaned softly as he pressed closer against Mickey.

“You just double-coated my insides,” Mickey said drily. “No shit, you like this.” God, this was how they were going to die, wasn’t it? One day, this kinky ginger fucker was going to load his old ass with his brittle bones in some kind of non-regulation sex swing and it would collapse and shatter them both. Their obituaries were going to be so embarassing. Ian only huffed softly and nipped at Mickey’s shoulder. “You planning to get me out of this any time soon?”

Ian only murmured something unintelligible and noncommittal along with the word “birthday.”

“Whatever, you’re going to want my hands on you at some point.”

Mickey was right, of course, and later on Ian would undo the ropes that bound Mickey’s hands and ankles returning his full mobility. Mickey would take full advantage, shoving Ian against the pillows and riding him like their lives depended on it.

* * *

It was just past midnight when they fell back to earth again for the hundredth. Mickey kept his legs wrapped around Ian’s hips and stroked Ian’s hair as the latter buried his face in the groove of Mickey’s neck. Mickey glanced at the clock on their bedside table and nudged Ian.

“It’s 12:08; you know what that means?”

“Hmm?”

“It means that one, it’s no longer your birthday; and two, you need to get the fuck off me,” Mickey informed him and shoved Ian aside with some effort.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was I keeping you from something more pressing?” 

“When I get back, you’re getting the rest of this off me,” Mickey said as he tugged at the ropes still adorning his chest. “I gotta go drop your kids off at the pool.”

Ian laughed. “Why are you always so gross? Jesus, hurry the fuck up and get back here.”

He lay back in bed, exhausted yet already growing impatient for Mickey’s return from the bathroom. As he stared up at the ceiling, he finally picked up that his phone was flashing away in the dark of the room. He rolled out of bed and got his phone from the dresser--twenty-seven missed calls. Shit. It was after midnight, but he figured it was still pretty safe to return Lip’s calls. 

“You asshole,” Lip greeted him.

“Fuck, I forgot!” Ian moaned. “I put the phone on silent for what I thought would be a minute and got caught up--fuck, I am an asshole.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. We’re just the people who’ve loved you since birth wanting to wish you a happy birthday in a difficult year,” Lip continued to put the boot in. 

“Is everybody mad?”

“No,” Lip assured him. “Well Fiona was considering a wellness check at one point, but I told them you were probably just balls-deep in an ass that was a portal in the space-time continuum. Who amongst us hasn’t been there?”

Ian threw himself backwards into his bed. “I fucked up. I’ll call everybody in the morning. I’ll plan another get together. Shit.”

“You had a good birthday though?” Lip asked him.

“Truthfully? I had the best birthday,” Ian admitted.

“You damn well better have for you to blow us off like that,” Lip scoffed. “Glad you had a good one though. Now fuck off, you ingrate; I’m trying to get my own party started.”

Mickey had figured out how to free himself from the rest of his bonds and had emerged from the bathroom without them. He handed the red ropes to Ian who used them to tug him closer.

“Hey,” Ian began.

“No, no ‘hey’,” Mickey said adamantly. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re plugged into right now, but I’m starving and dehydrated. What have we even eaten all day?!”

Ian brought up the room lights so he could view the aftermath of Mickey’s body. Apart from the redness caused by the bindings on the pale skin, Mickey appeared unscathed. “I ate,” Ian grinned up at his boyfriend.

“My ass does not count.”

“Clearly you’ve never eaten an ass like yours. I’m making hay while the sun shines so you can’t complain the next time I’m going through treatment failure and drug regimen changes where my dick forgets how to be a dick again.”

Mickey was a little taken aback at the thought. It hadn’t been that long ago that they’d had to weather that brief storm of some of Ian’s medication failing and having to regroup and readjust. The impotence that had come with it was an unfortunate but anticipated side effect, so Mickey had thought Ian would have been completely over it by now.

Mickey grabbed Ian’s chin and lifted his head to meet his gaze. “That wasn’t on you, Ian. No one holds that shit against you, least of all me. What, you think if you can’t fuck me day in day out I’m gonna just take off? Or are you worried that if you’re not giving it to me, then I’m going to go get it somewhere else?”

Ian’s wince was fleeting but Mickey caught it nonetheless. Mickey sucked his teeth and let his hand fall away from Ian’s face. “We’ve talked about this, Ian; we laid out the terms. We said it would be me and you no matter what, and we’ve been doing it. I’m not going to step out on you just because shit might go a little sideways. Jesus Christ, Ian, you’ve got to give me some credit here.”

“I am! I do,” Ian said, getting up from the bed quickly to grab hold of Mickey. “I trust you. I trust you, way more than I trust myself and everything else in my life. This is what happens when there’s this...force out there that up and decides to hit randomize on aspects of my life that I’d rather just be left alone.” Ian was always acutely aware how on what seemed like a whim, his mental health could change, as well as his financial status. Even his virility seemed to walk a precarious line.

Mickey lowered his hackles when he saw the telltale signs of Ian’s anxiety flaring up. “It’s fine, Ian. I’m fine, you’re fine, you’re dick’s amazing, and we’re solid,” he assured Ian soothingly as he reached up to stroke Ian’s face. “Stop twisting yourself up about shit that’s already done, and shit that hasn’t happened yet and might never happen. Let’s just deal with what’s happening now and roll with whatever comes alright?”

Ian nodded, comforted by Mickey’s understanding and reassurance.

“You spend way too much time in your own head,” Mickey chastised gently. “I told you how you get whenever you want to try something new and a little spicy. Sensitive puppy.”

Ian rolled his eyes, slightly chagrined, and pulled Mickey against his body again. “Look, it’s not even as deep as all that. I just really, really, _really_ love fucking you-” he said as he reached down to grab Mickey’s bare ass with both hands.

“Hmm.”

“-and I get super depressed and screwed up about it when I don’t get to.” Ian said softly as he kissed along Mickey’s ear.

“Yeah, well fuck you and your dire dick,” Mickey said and stepped out of Ian’s grasp to grab some clothes. “I told you I’m starving. You want some actual food or not?”

* * *

Eventually Ian settled at the dining room table while Mickey puttered about in the kitchen grilling some ham and cheese sandwiches. He smiled to himself as he stared out at the lit city beneath his window and contemplated how weird it was to feel this happy and content even in the midst of everything. He was pulled back to the present by Mickey setting down the beers and the tray stacked mile-high with sandwiches. Mickey sat next to him and they wasted no time tearing into them.

As they finished up their late night meal, Mickey left the table to head back into the kitchen for a while, only to reemerge later with another tray of half dozen frosted, candlelit cupcakes from Ian’s favourite bakery. Mickey shifted the empty sandwich strap away from Ian and plopped down the birthday pastries.

“Flaming cupcakes for my-”

“-flaming cupcake? Fuck you!” Ian laughed and flipped Mickey off. Mickey produced a bag out of which he pulled a couple cheap party hats and some party horns. He slapped a hat on Ian’s head before donning his own. 

“Happy birthday,” Mickey said drily before blowing his horn and making Ian crack up. “Ideally I had wanted to do this during your actual birthday, but someone was on me practically from the ass crack of dawn so…”

“When did you even do this? How?”

“McKenzie,” Mickey answered, referring to their occasional dog walker. “When she came by today, I paid her to pick up the order from Short & Sweet and get some party favours,” he said and blew on his party horn again. “No cupcakes for you, there’s chocolate in them,” Mickey told their dogs, “but I didn’t forget you guys either.” He retrieved two massive dog cookies from the bakery and handed them over to the eager pups. “Have your treats then fuck off back to bed.”

“Oh, that’s why you insisted on dealing with her when she came back. Sneaky...and sweet.”

“Yep, that’s me in a nutshell. Now blow your candles out and wish for a better birthday with an actual party next year.”

“Yeah, I don’t think there’s any getting better than this,” Ian smiled and blew out his candles.

“No?”

“This is hands down the best birthday I’ve ever had, and I would be 150% okay with making this a tradition for the next fifty/sixty years.”

Mickey grinned at the thought as Ian took a massive bite out of his first cupcake. “You really think you could handle seeing my sagging man-tits framed out in those red ropes?”

“Can’t wait,” Ian said through a mouthful of sweets. When he finished the first cupcake, he grabbed Mickey’s t-shirt, pulled him close and thanked him for the sweet birthday surprise with a kiss. “You know,” Ian whispered against Mickey’s lips “technically, it’s still my birthday in California.”

Mickey laughed. “Technically, you’d be right.”

“And I can think of a couple less boring ways to enjoy some amazing cupcakes.”

“Wanna make some more hay, huh?” Mickey surmised. “Fucking amazing. Bring the cupcakes.”

Ian grabbed the tray and happily trailed Mickey back to their bedroom.

“All I know is-” Mickey began as Ian closed the bedroom door behind them, “you better go all out for my birthday.”

“You can bet on it.”

**The End**


End file.
